The Fall
by Doodlez2012
Summary: "If John had looked even slightly to his left, as he walked away from the grave, he might have seen the long coat and tall frame of his friend, his flat mate and the person who had left him all alone."


**A/N: This is my first time writing Sherlock fanfiction. Of course I saw Reichenbach Fall and I wanted to write that whole ending kind of from John's point of view, as in what he was thinking and feeling. I don't know how well I did but it's been sitting on my computer for about two weeks now and I thought that I should post it. So I hope you like it! It's un-betaed and un britified. **

**Disclaimer. I own nothing. All dialogue is exactly as I heard it from the show with the exception of a few parts I.E the paramedics at the beginning and some sessions with the therapist. **

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><p>He woke up to his phone ringing. He was disoriented for a few seconds, he defiantly didn't usually wake up to white walls and beakers all around him. He sat up and almost fell off of the stool he forgot he was sitting on. He had a cramp in his neck from how he slept and his wrist felt stiff and sore. He then remembered that his phone was ringing.<p>

"John Watson?" asked the voice on the other end.

"Yes, speaking." He replied still trying to wake up. He winced in pain as he shifted himself on the stool. He looked at his wrist and saw that there was a bruise on it. For a second he was confused as to how he had gotten it but then remembered running through the street the night before handcuffed to Sherlock.

"Mrs. Hudson has been badly wounded." said the voice on the other end.

"What?" He asked now wide awake. "Hold on, what happened? Is she okay?"

"She's been shot. Is there anyway someone could come and be with her?"

"Oh my god. Yes, I'm coming." He said quickly before hanging up. He turned to see Sherlock sitting calmly on chair with his feet resting on the counter.

"What happened?" He asked uninterested rolling a rubber ball on the counter.

"Mrs. Hudson's been shot." John said quickly gathering his things.

"What? How?" Sherlock asked, again in the same uninterested voice.

"Probably one of the killers you managed to attract. Jesus, Jesus." John said, getting ready to walk out the door. He turned back to see if Sherlock was following him and found him still sitting in the same position and not moving to get up. "Come on let's go."

"You go, I'm busy." He replied looking away from John.

"Busy?" John's patience was wearing thin. He hadn't had a good nights sleep, not to mention that him and Sherlock were fugitives on the run, and Mrs. Hudson had just been shot and Sherlock sat there in his chair looking and sounding uninterested telling John that he was busy. Busy doing what? He wasn't doing anything. Sherlock couldn't be busy.

"Busy thinking." He replied. John was now angry at Sherlock.

"Don't you care about her? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her." He nearly shouted.

"She's my landlady." Sherlock said shrugging.

"She's dieing! You machine!" John yelled. "Sod this." He said. He wasn't in the mood to argue with Sherlock at the time. If Sherlock wanted to stay at the lab, then Sherlock could stay at the lab. "You stay here if you want." he said walking off angrily. "You can stay here alone."

"Alone is all I have. Alone protects me."

"No. Friends protect people." Was the last thing John said to Sherlock before angrily slamming the door behind him, leaving Sherlock still sitting in the chair with his feet up on the counter playing with a rubber ball.

John was lucky enough to find a cab quickly. He told the cab driver the address and to drive as quickly as possible. The drive seemed to take longer than he remembered. A mix of emotions ran through him as he sat in the cab. Anger at Sherlock for not coming. Confusion because Sherlock didn't seem to care. Worry, because Mrs. Hudson had been shot; which reminded him.

"Can you please drive quicker?" he asked the cabbie who just grunted in response but didn't change the speed he was going. John sat back in his seat and nervously tapped his fingers on his leg. The only thing that didn't cross his mind was the one thing that was important. Why was Mrs. Hudson still at the apartment if she had been shot? Why wasn't she at a hospital?

Finally he got to 221b Baker Street, paid the cabbie, quickly unlocked the door to find Mrs. Hudson standing beside a ladder helping a man change a light bulb.

"Is everything alright dearie?" She asked when she saw his panicked appearance. It was now that he knew that something bigger was happening that Sherlock didn't want him there for. This explained why Sherlock was so uninterested when told that Mrs. Hudson had been shot. Sherlock must have planned this just to get John away from him. How could he have been so stupid. He sighed, ran outside and got another cab.

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><p>As he got out of the second cab his phone began to ring.<p>

"Hello?"

"John." He heard the deep voice of Sherlock say.

"Sherlock. You okay?" John asked as he started running towards the hospital.

"Turn around and walk back where you came from." Sherlock said. John was confused. Sherlock had never told him to turn around he usually told him to come to him as quickly as possible even if it was incontinent.

"No, I'm coming in." he responded.

"Just do as I ask." John could tell that Sherlock was trying to control his voice to sound calm but was failing. The intensity and emotion that was mixed into those five simple words made John slow down and stop. He had never heard Sherlock sound as he did at that time. He sounded almost scared. There had been that time during the case in Baskerville but this was different. This was raw emotion. This was something that John hadn't seen since the war. "Please." Sherlock never said please. John knew that something was wrong.

"Where?" He asked as he turned away from the hospital.

"Stop there." He heard Sherlock say after he had walked a few steps away.

"Sherlock…"

"Okay, look up I'm on the rooftop." John turned slowly around to look towards the hospital again. He looked up and saw Sherlock standing at the very edge of the building. He was a black dot against the grey sky, his coat flapping around his legs in the wind.

"Oh God…" John trailed off when he saw Sherlock.

"I-I I can't come down so we'll just have to do it like this." Sherlock said calmer then he had sounded before. John took a couple of steps back in shock, his eyes never leaving the man standing on the roof of the hospital.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"An apology." There was a short pause before he said, "It's all true." Three words. Three simple words.

"What?" John asked not believing what he was hearing.

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty." John stared in shock. This couldn't be true. John refused to believe that this was true. Hadn't it been just last night that Sherlock had been worried that John was buying into all the rubbish that Moriarty had been spreading about him.

Words didn't come to John at the moment. Even when they did all he could manage was "Why are you saying this?"

"I'm a fake." Sherlock's voice wavered very slightly.

"Sherlock…" He started before Sherlock cut him off.

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly, in fact tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes." Sherlock sounded like someone who was trying to remain calm, but was having trouble doing so.

"Okay, shut up Sherlock. Shut up." John said firmly. Sherlock couldn't have been lying all this time. The proof was in the first time they had met. Sherlock had known about John's military career, his sister, the fact that he'd been shot. Sherlock knew things that no one else had known about. That couldn't have been faked, it just couldn't. "The first time we met. The first time we met." John said articulating the last four words "You knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever." Was Sherlock's reply.

"You could." John stated simply. He heard Sherlock let out a short haggard laugh before silence. John stood there in his spot looking at Sherlock, he could see that Sherlock was looking at him from his spot on the roof. They stood there for a few seconds with the wind and cars in the distance as the only sound to break the silence.

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything I could to impress you." John again just stared in shock. He heard Sherlock sniff a bit. Was Sherlock crying? "It's a trick, just a magic trick."

John started shaking his head. He knew that it wasn't a trick, Sherlock hadn't known that he had been coming that day so long ago. Or had he? Had Mike called Sherlock ahead of time? No! John told himself firmly. Sherlock hadn't known that he had been coming with Mike that day. Sherlock hadn't had time to research him. What Sherlock knew about him would have taken a lot of time, and following to figure out all the things that Sherlock had known about John that first day.

"No! alright stop it now!" John said.

"No, stay exactly where you are!" Sherlock said firmly when John started walking towards the hospital again. John walked backwards to where he had been moments ago with his hand in the air as if to tell Sherlock that he surrendered

"Alright." As much as John wanted to run up there to Sherlock it was probably smarter to stay down on the ground exactly where Sherlock had told him to stay.

He could hear Sherlock's breathing increase over the phone as he said, "keep your eyes fixed on me. Please. Will you do this for me?" John could hear Sherlock trying not to cry. He wanted to sound strong.

"Do what?"

"This phone call, it's a-" Sherlock's voice wavered off "It's my note." there was a pause as John tried to take in everything that was happening. Sherlock wasn't thinking about jumping was he? He had only known Sherlock for a short while but in that short while John had never gotten the impression that Sherlock would commit suicide because of some lies that Moriarty was spreading around. "It's what people do don't they? Leave a note."

"Leave a note when?" John asked. He could feel his own tears threatening to come forward.

"Goodbye John."

"No- don't-" John wasn't able to properly finish his sentences. The words died in his throat. Too many emotions where going through him at the time. Sherlock wasn't going to jump was he. He couldn't. Sherlock couldn't leave John by himself. Couldn't Sherlock see that he was being selfish? Well, even more selfish than usual. John could see Sherlock hold his phone to his ear for a few seconds longer after saying goodbye before he slowly lowered it and tossed it behind him. "Sherlock!" John shouted abandoning his own phone as he watched Sherlock hold out his arms and step off of the roof. "Sherlock-"

Time seemed to slow down as John watched in horror as Sherlock fell from the top of the building. John stood frozen to his spot. The shock of what he was witnessing was not allowing him to move. Even as he was watching him fall, John couldn't believe it. Sherlock hadn't just jump. He wasn't watching his flat mate, his friend, fall to his death. His heart seemed to stop as he watched. He had seen men get shot, men die because of their wounds. War had been a gruesome thing, something that he never wished upon anyone, yet watching Sherlock fall was the worst thing that he had ever seen.

As soon as Sherlock hit the ground, John got his wits about him and started towards him. Everything was silent or at least it seemed that way. All that he cared about was Sherlock. He came around the corner of the building in front of him to see part of Sherlock's body laying on the sidewalk. John stood there for a few seconds which was long enough for a biker to knock him over. After getting up he saw a crowd of bystanders and nurses around Sherlock's body. John ran over to them in a daze. There was a nurse that was holding the group of bystanders away from Sherlock. "I'm a doctor. Let me come through." he said. He felt numb as he tried to make his way through the people surrounding Sherlock. "Let me come through please. He's my friend. He's my friend!" His voice was breaking as he said the last word. The nurses didn't try to hold him back, they seemed too preoccupied trying to keep everyone else away. Even as he was looking at him, John still couldn't believe it. It was like a bad dream. One that he didn't seem to be waking up from soon enough.

John bent down and picked up Sherlock's wrist to check for a pulse. One that he knew wasn't going to be there. He didn't want to let go of the still warm hand as a lady pried his hand from Sherlock's. The nurses started pulling him away from the body. He tried to fight back but didn't seem to have any energy left in him. As he was being pulled away he collapsed, he had no energy left to hold himself up. A women was holding him in her arms as a gurney was brought out.

"Oh Jesus no. Oh God no." John said. The woman couldn't hold John anymore as he went limp. He fell to the ground, the ladies around him tried to pull him up but found it to be found it to be a lost cause, so they held him up as he watched Sherlock get turned over. There was a lot of blood. Sherlock's hair was matted with it and it covered his face. Sherlock didn't look dead, he look like he had been sleeping in a puddle of blood but John knew better. Dead people almost always looked like they were sleeping. Yet John couldn't help but hope that Sherlock was going to jump up any second and be alright. That this was going to be a horrible joke. It would be a long shot even for Sherlock, but John didn't put it past him. At least John didn't want to put it past him but not even Sherlock could survive a fall from that height and John knew that, he just couldn't admit it.

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><p>John went back to his therapist a month later. He had gotten tired of Mrs. Hudson constantly coming up to check on him. Her worried looks that she would give him when she didn't think he was looking. Quite a few people seemed to take Sherlock's suicide pretty hard, but not as hard as John did. No one could understand the relationship between the two men, hell not even John himself could. Sherlock had been like his other half. Sherlock had added something, John wasn't sure what, to his life. Meeting Sherlock after the war was the best thing to happen to him. John had been…happy. But now he sat in his chair staring blankly at Sherlock's old chair for hours on end. Which led him back to his therapist.<p>

"Why today?" She asked simply. He looked at her funnily. Was she really asking him this question?

"Do you want to hear me say it?"

Her head shot up as she said, "Eighteen months since our last appointment." It was a simple statement, that seemed more questioning. Of course it had been eighteen months since the last appointment. He hadn't needed to see his therapist in those last eighteen months, that should have been clear to her, she was a therapist wasn't she?

"Do you read the papers?" He asked her taking control of the conversation, if that's what it could be called.

"Sometimes." She answered.

"Hm. And you watch telly?" this was getting silly. She knew why he was there, he shouldn't be explaining this to her. She nodded her head. "You know why I'm here." he took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm here because-" his voice trailed off. He could feel the tears coming. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Even a month later he had a hard time saying it.

His therapist sat there looking at him for a few seconds. She saw that this was a hard topic for him and if he could tell her out loud why he was there, that would be a step in the right direction. "What happened John?" She asked leaning forward in her chair.

The tears were threatening to fall now. He blinked a few times and tried to take a deep breath. Every time this topic came up he always pictured Sherlock falling. His chest would then tighten and his breath would get hitched in his throat. He recognized this as the start of a panic attack. He'd been having them more often since Sherlock's death.

"You need to get it out." he heard his therapist say. It wasn't like he hadn't tried. Each time he had the same reaction. It was like the fates were teasing him by not letting him admit out loud that Sherlock was dead.

"My best friend Sherlock Holmes," He forced the last word out, his voice almost failing on him. He had just two more words to say, if he could get those out then he would consider that his accomplishment for the day. "Is dead." Those last two words came out stronger then he expected and once they were out he felt like a weight had been slightly raised off of his chest.

"The stuff that you wanted to say, but didn't say it." His therapist started.

"Yeah," He knew where this was going.

"Say it now."

"No." He knew it wasn't the answer that his therapist wanted but it was the one he was giving. He wasn't ready to say goodbye to his friend. Not just yet. "Sorry I can't."

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><p>Two weeks after he started back at his therapist him and Mrs. Hudson went to Sherlock's grave. It was the first time that he had been there since the burial, which had been over a month ago. He was seeing his therapist twice a week but there hadn't been much progress since him saying that Sherlock was dead out loud. He could tell that she was starting to get a bit frustrated with him but was hiding it well. It had been her idea for John to visit Sherlock's grave.<p>

"_Do you think Sherlock would want you to visit his grave?" she had asked him, staring intently at him waiting for his response. _

"_I don't know what Sherlock would have wanted." he had answered and it had been the truth. Sherlock was a complicated man that no one but Sherlock himself would understand. Even though John considered himself Sherlock's friend he had no idea what Sherlock would have wanted other then another crime to have been committed by some clever criminal. _

John wasn't visiting Sherlock's grave because that was what Sherlock would have wanted, John was visiting it for himself.

"_I think that you should visit his grave. It might bring you closure and help you move forward." His therapist told him. "I can't help you if you don't bring closure to yourself and I think if you visit his grave, this closure will come and you can move forward." he had only nodded. _

That had been two sessions ago, she had seemed disappointed that he hadn't gone yet in their last session but she didn't bring it up again. Instead she asked him what he wanted to say to Sherlock. The 'things that he wanted to say but didn't.' He couldn't bring himself to say them, so he sat there in silence for a majority of the session neither him nor his therapist saying anything.

"_If you aren't going to say them to me, why don't you go to his grave and say them there. It might do you some good to at least say them out loud." _

This all lead to him visiting Sherlock's grave a month and two weeks after he had jumped. He brought Mrs. Hudson just so he wouldn't be alone. He had the feeling that if he had gone alone then he wouldn't have been able to make it into the graveyard.

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><p>He was quiet the whole ride to the graveyard. Mrs. Hudson had brought some flowers along, it wasn't her first trip there.<p>

"There's all his stuff. All his science equipment. I left it all in boxes, I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it to a school." She was carrying on a conversation mainly with herself. John wasn't really listening just looking at the black headstone that had 'Sherlock Holmes' engraved on it. "Would you-" she started hopefully.

"Sorry, I can't go back to the flat again." he interrupted her. "Not at the moment." She didn't say anything, only slipped her arm through his and gave it a comforting squeeze. "I'm angry."

"It's okay John. Nothing unusual in that. That's the way he made everyone feel. All the marks on my table and the noise, firing guns off at one in the morning" She started reminiscing.

"Yeah," he said agreeing with her. He remembered those times. He had been there hadn't he?

"Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine keeping bodies where there's food." She was getting worked up. "Fighting drove me up the wall, with his carrying-" Her voice raising with each word. John could tell that if he didn't stop her she was going to start on a rant about all the things that he did. Even with that anger in her voice, John could detect sadness, and even though all the things that she had been saying had made her angry she was going to miss them. 221b Baker street was not going to be the same without Sherlock and John.

"Listen, I'm not actually that angry." he said trying to calm her down.

"I'll leave you alone to, you know-" She didn't finish her sentence. She turned around and walked away from the grave, John could hear her taking deep breaths trying to hold back tears. He knew once she was far away from him she was going to cry, she just didn't want to do it in his presence.

He stood looking at the grave for a few seconds. Here he was at Sherlock's grave, exactly what his therapist wanted. Except, he didn't want to be there because his therapist wanted him to be there, he was there because he wanted to be there. He wanted to say a proper goodbye to Sherlock and that was his reason for being there.

"Um. Hm." He didn't know where to start. "You, you told me once that you weren't a hero," He began. It wasn't easy to get the words out, he could feel a lump in his throat as he tried to talk. "Um, there were times when I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this, you were the best man and the most human, human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie." As he talked the words came easier. These were the words that he had wanted to say but never could. "There." He said with an air of finality. Without thinking he walked up to touch Sherlock's gravestone. Touching that gravestone made it feel real. Sherlock really was gone and wasn't coming back. The tears in his eyes that had been building up during his speech threatened to fall now as he continued on. "I was so alone and I owe you so much." he couldn't stay there any longer. His chest begin to tighten again and he felt like he was in a room and the walls were closing in on him. He took his hand quickly off the gravestone and turned to walk away. Before he got very far he had one last thing to say to Sherlock, if Sherlock was even listening. "There's just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle Sherlock, for me. Don't. Be. Dead." his voice cracked as he said the last word, he blinked to keep his tears in bay but it didn't help much. He knew what he was asking was impossible. He had seen Sherlock jump that day, he had seen the body lying there on the sidewalk, the red blood that had been pooled around Sherlock's head. He had even looked for a pulse and hadn't felt one. But despite all of these things, Sherlock couldn't be dead. But he was and John wasn't ready to fully accept it not even a month and two weeks later as he stood at Sherlock's grave staring at Sherlock's gravestone. He took a deep breath before continuing on. "Would you do that for me? Just stop it. Stop this." he was angry at Sherlock. Angrier then he had been before. Sherlock had left him, by himself. He felt completely alone and that was all Sherlock's fault. He stood there and let the tears fall for the first time. He hadn't cried when Sherlock had jumped, or at the funeral, but after getting saying all that he said and feeling fully alone he couldn't hold his tears in any longer. He didn't sob like other people had, he stood there quietly with his head bowed and let the tears fall to the ground at his feet. He raised his head, took one last look at the gravestone sans emotion turned on his heel as would have done in the military and walked away from the grave.

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><p>If John had looked even slightly to his left, as he walked away from the grave, he might have seen the long coat and tall frame of his friend, his flat mate and the person who had left him all alone.<p>

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><p><strong>AN: Whew not only did it sit on my laptop for two weeks It took me about three weeks to write this. I've never written anything this hard before it was a big challenge. Anywho I hope you enjoyed it! Thoughts on it would be lovely!**


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